Black Sheep

Coffee Date

"Welcome to Purgatorial Brew. May I take your order?"

"Banana dark roast coffee for me," Phil answers before gazing down at me. "Pick whatever you'd like, Y/N."

"I'll have..." I trail off in thought as I look up at the large blackboard on the wall behind the man, where the menu was neatly written out in multiple colors of chalk in a variety of translations, which was relieving to see after having no luck reading the sign outside. There's a lot of drinks I've never even heard of, but I decide to pick one of my favorites that I had spotted on the list. "F/D." The barista nods, finally taking a quick glance at us. Immediately, he stiffens after recognizing who my company is and gulps.

"Please, have a seat. Your drinks will be brought to you shortly," he forces out a calm, steady voice, though there were moments it sounded like it might crack. Phil merely nods his head, unfazed by how anxious the barista became, and leads me away to one of the booths in the back. Everyone minded their own business as we passed by them, it seems. We sit across from each other as I continue to enjoy the details of the place right down to the smell of the fire, the coffee and I believe I'm picking up notes of a well-toasted s'more with rich chocolate— probably from the pastries at the counter. It caused my mouth to water.

'Maybe I should've picked out something to eat too? It smells delicious in here. Then again, if the businesses down here do exchange services, I wouldn't want Phil to have to do anything extra.' It was a bit disappointing, though. So far, everything I've eaten in Hell has been so flavorful. I bet those pastries taste amazing. Oh well. However, as I look around at the other customers, I do start to notice that none of them are exchanging any of those cards Phil had shown me in the past or exchanging anything for that matter. I suppose they could be regulars with some sort of tab, but it seems that way for every single person. Surely, they can't all be regulars, right? My brows pinch in thought as I try to figure out how things operate in this place, earning a light chuckle from my companion.

"What's got you all confused?" He questions with a small, amused smirk.

"I just don't get it. How the heck is anybody paying for their orders? I haven't seen anything be exchanged. Isn't that how you said it works here?" I look to him for answers, and his smile grows a little bigger at my interest.

"No matter where you go in Hell, food and drink are always free. It isn't actually a necessity for us, and there is no nutritional value in it. If we wanted to, we could run on nothing for the entirety of our lives. To eat and drink is more like..." He hums, trying to think of the best explanation for it, "having something to do when you get bored. We also enjoy the flavors. Overall, not much of the food is actually used unless you count glutton joints, but that's a whole other headache. They actually have to be put on a limit to keep them from consuming everything in sight."

"Huh, that's pretty weird," I mutter while folding my arms on top of the table. "It is nice that it's all free, though."

"You think so?" he inquires with an arched brow. "Personally, what I find strange is that you humans need food to survive, and yet, you demand payment for it. Though I understand they might want some sort of exchange, some of those prices are unreasonably high, and I'm sure there's more than plenty to go around if properly distributed. It all comes down to greed, I suppose. I've seen plenty of instances of that in my lifetime. The human world appears more twisted than my own, does it not?"

"Well, if you put it like that, I guess you're not wrong." I must admit, it's interesting hearing his views on it, but I just have more questions. "So, do you have taxes here too, or something similar?" My answer is the shake of a head as our drinks are finally brought to us by a demon woman with light orange hair cut into a fluffy bob with thick, ram horns curled upon her head. It was hard not to look at the rolled-up whip stationed at her hip. The weapon's presence made me a little uncomfortable. It may have been a trick of the light, but I thought for sure I caught her winking at Phil. Maybe I'm just seeing things and she only blinked? ... Or not, according to that look of disgust he's wearing. Just as I open my mouth to thank her for the drinks, to be polite, but she had already left without sparing me a glance.